A Threat More Terrifying Than Dragons
by paulsfantasywritings
Summary: King Aegon the Conqueror is sitting in his throne room, discussing what to do about the Dornish War, when he is given a letter that terrifies him.


**-A Threat More Terrifying Than Dragons-**

**(Aegon The Conqueror)**

Ser Corys Valeryon, the Commander of the Kingsguards, pulled on the velvet cloth. The cloth came down and the air tautened: a large cage containing the head of Meraxes, the dragon that Aegon's sister-Queen, Rhaenys, had ridden to her death at Hellholt stood before them. The beast had a fracture at the eye-socket where the bolt had pierced and killed it.

"Is Lord Nymor a fool?" Queen Visenya said.

King Aegon Targaeryan, the First of His Name, sitting on the Iron Throne, looked down at his other sister-wife and lowered his brows to show his displeasure. "It's _Prince_ Nymor," he said. "Whatever we may think of him, we must call him by his correct title."

Queen Visenya snorted. "Does he really think that this pathetic excuse of a peace offering will make us forget that his people killed our sister?"

"No," King Aegon replied. "That's why he sent his heiress with it."

"You do not mean to make peace with the Dornish, _surely_?" Her voice had an edge to it, as sharp as Dark Sister, the Valyrian Steel sword at her hip. "There should be no peace without submission. Or else Rhaenys died for naught."

The men at the council table nodded. It was clear where they stood on the matter of making peace with Dorne. "This peace offering is an insult, Your Grace," Lord Oakheart said. "If the Dornish are so proud of their courage, why don't they show it by coming out to the field to fight us?"

King Aegon sighed and rubbed his temples. Not for the first time, he sensed that his vigour had evaporated with his youth. For thirteen years he had been at war with Dorne. He had threatened them and burned their towns to smoldering heaps of ash and rubble. But unlike the other six kingdoms, Dorne had not submitted to the dragon.

The Dornish had preferred to hide and ambush at loyalist soldiers, rather than tremble at the sight of Balerion, the Black Dread as the people called him. "My Lord," King Aegon said. "You may proudly sneer at the Dornish for their courage, or lack thereof. But try as might to mock them, it will not goad them out to the field. Likewise, Balerion and Vhagar can turn their towns and forts into another Harrenhall. But try as we might, it will not bring about the Dornish's surrender."

"So try _harder_," Visenya hissed.

_If only it were that simple, Sister._ He loved her dearly, but his opinion of her had changed since Rhaenys had died. Where once King Aegon had lusted for Visenya when he was not in bed with her, now he did not want to share his bed with her; and where once he had found her strong-willed and determined, now he found her stubborn and unforgiving. "I have tried harder," he said. "And I am willing to try harder still. But I also believe that we should consider all options."

Visenya snapped him a glare that could have broken stone. "Prince Nymor is past sixty and with failing health. He is weak and has no appetite for war. We should take advantage of his weakness and strike now! We have a chance to end the war with Dorne. We should not miss this opportunity to force Dorne into submission."

King Aegon tapped the armrest of the Iron Throne, made up of the twisted, mangled swords of his enemies. He pricked his finger on one of the blades and grunted; the acuteness of the pain sharpened his desire to go against his sister. "Mayhap you are right," he said. "Mayhap, I will give the order to march to war again tonight and be off within a fortnight. But, first, I want to listen to what Princess Deria has to say on her father's behalf."

"Your Grace," Lord Oakheart put in. "A better idea might be to clap her in irons and send her to the city's cheapest brothel. Then, every man in Fleabottom can use her for his pleasure, so she and her father can feel the pain that Dorne has caused us."

"Better still," Lord Orys Baratheon added. "Send her back short a hand."

King Aegon gave his Hand a sidelong frown. He understood the former warrior's bitterness. Lord Orys had been captured by the Lord Wyl of Wyl, the Widow-Maker, nine years go. Upon his release, Lord Wyl had cut off his sword-hand to ensure that Lord Orys would never be able to use it against him and Dorne again.

What had happened to Lord Orys had been cruel and unjust. Yet, his unquenchable thirst for spite would not warrant the heiress of Dorne to suffer the same fate that Lord Wyl had delivered him. "Princess Deria came here as her father's official emissary," King Aegon said. "Prince Nymor sent her, trusting that I would treat her honourably. And I intend to. So long as I am King, I will not have her, or any other emissaries, harmed. Bring her in."

Ser Corlys Valeryon marched forward; his footsteps echoed in the hall. He opened the doors to the throne room, where Princess Deria awaited him. The woman was of average height, age and looks, with a darkish Dornish complexion. She was of no match to Queen Rhaenys' beauty, and King Aegon's blood simmered at the thought that his sister had lost her life but this mediocrity still lived.

Princess Deria marched beside Ser Corlys into the hall. She marched tall and proud, with not a trace of fear glinting in her black beady eyes.

"Kneel before your king," Visenya told her.

The Princess stopped before the Iron Throne and smiled at Visenya, with all the cunning of the snake on House Martell's banner. "To kneel would mean that I would have to bow," she said. "Surely, by now, you are aware that the people of Dorne stand by the words of my House: _Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken_? Or will you come back, flying on your dragon again, to set fire to the ashes and repeat the same, failed tactics that you have tried for-"

Visenya stepped forward.

"No!" King Aegon stated. "She is an honoured guest!"

But Visenya did not listen. In the blink of an eye, she had drawn Dark Sister and put its sharp-tip to Princess Deria's neck. "Speak another word that I take displeasure to," she said. "And I will send your head back to your father as my peace offering."

Princess Deria, who had not as much as flinched, widened her smile. "If you think beheading me will frighten my father, or will anger my people enough to make us fight you like the other foolish Houses, you have misunderstood the viper and Dorne. You can wage war a hundred times against us and each time you will retreat from our lands with your tail between your dragon's legs."

Visenya scowled. Her sword quivering at the Princess' neck, as if she wanted to pierce it whilst holding herself back from her own desires.

King Aegon decided it was best to ignore his sister's rashness, rather than humiliate her by telling her to put the sword down. "Princess Deria," he proclaimed, speaking down to the Dornish woman. "We welcome you to the capital. I hope your stay thus far has been enjoyable."

"Your capital is new. Thus, I can forgive it for lacking in beauty and history, especially when comparing it to Sunspear and the Watergardens. But I did not come to compare our respective capitals."

_As I try to be diplomatic, she has the audacity to taunt me._ "I understand that you have come to speak of peace," the King said, continuing to be tactful. "Many in here wish for submission as the price Dorne must pay for peace. What say you and your father to that?"

"We expect nothing less from the dragon. But the viper does not bow, kneel or submit. Not even when being fucked."

King Aegon narrowed his brows. Lords Orys and Oakheart, as well as all seven knights of the Kingsguard growled, like a pack of wolves, ready to devour their prey. "We do not speak this way in my halls," King Aegon said. "For what reason has your father gifted us with you?"

Princess Deria looked at Visenya and waited for the Queen to remove and sheath her sword. Then, Deria dipped her hand into her pocket. Aegon tensed, and the knights of the King's Guards grabbed the hilts of their swords.

Picking up on the sudden tension in the hall, Princess Deria kept her hand in her pocket and glanced around the hall. The grin plastered on her face hinted that she enjoyed all eyes being on her. "If I had wanted to throw a dagger at you, Your Grace," she said. "You would have had the blade in your throat already. But you need not worry, I am unarmed and have not come to cause you harm." She removed her hand from her pocket and held out a letter. "For your eyes only, Your Grace."

King Aegon gestured to Ser Corlys and flicked his wrist, indicating to the knight that he should bring him the letter. The Commander of the King's Guard did as he was bid. His Grace assessed the wax seal: orange with a viper coiling around a spear, the official stamp of House Martell.

King Aegon broke the seal and unwound the scroll. "_Your Grace, King Aegon of the House Targaeryan, First Of His Name Of The Six Kingdoms, Rider of Balerion the Black Dread, and known to all but Dorne as The Conqueror,_" the King read. "_I appeal to you, as a father and a ruler, to end the hostilities. Our peoples need not suffer any more. No more families need to know loss and grief because we cannot act in a way befitting kings. Let the annals of history say that King Aegon the Conqueror was a wise man, as well as a strong one. I urge you, therefore, to take this chance to meet me at Dragonstone, so that we can make an eternal peace between our kingdoms._

"_I am there already,_" King Aegon continued. "_And I am waiting for you to arrive on the back of your black dragon. I expect your arrival in three days. If you have not arrived in five, you will know loss as a father as you have as a brother. I hired the Faceless Men of Braavos some time ago and have infiltrated those closest to you, those who guard, advise and serve you._" Cold air breathed down Aegon's back and the hairs turned to prickles. The Faceless Men were silent assassins that made murder look like a natural occurrence. In Old Valyria they used to say that the Faceless Men were a threat more terrifying than dragons, and now Aegon understood why. "_Some of the men and women may look like people you have known for years,_" he continued reading. "_But they are not. If you have not left your capital within two days from the time of opening this letter, these same people are under instruction to make you know loss as you could never have imagined. The choice is yours. I hope you make the right one. Prince Nymor Martell._"

King Aegon's hand trembled. He flicked his eyes from side to side, wondering who was _and who was not_ who they said they were. Who were the assassins, ready to murder his children?

"What do you say, Your Grace?" Princess Deria asked, sneering.

_She knows._ King Aegon, still holding the letter, pressed his finger and thumb together. Blood leaked from his pricked finger, down the parchment, and droplets dripped onto his grey hose. King Aegon had a terrible urge to arrest her and have her taken into a dungeon, to force her to confess to who the Faceless Men were among his court and household.

Yet, if she were anything like her people, he would sooner get viper's poison than the truth. "I leave for Dragonstone in the morning," he said. "Now go, Princess Deria. I never want to see you again."


End file.
